


Silver

by Flightless_Bird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, But he still helps his Victor, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, His HAIR, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Insults, Language, Literal angel, M/M, Poor Victor, Russian Pet Names, Young!Victor, why do i do this?, yuuri is sleepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightless_Bird/pseuds/Flightless_Bird
Summary: "Hey! Nikiforov!"Blinking, Victor paused and glanced over his shoulder. A boy, maybe a year older, was behind him, hands in the pockets of a black coat. His spiky hair matched the color near-perfectly. A sharp grin tilted his lips in a way that wasn't exactly friendly. "Aren't you that skater I saw in the last show or something?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just really sorry for writing this already. I wanted to figure out an angsty reason for Victor cutting his hair and this is what came to mind. Please don't hate me! Also, there is bullying in this, so fair warning there. I hope you at least forgive me enough to leave a comment? They never cease to make me happy c:

He was around sixteen when it started.

  
Known in the skating world, growing momentum as he won and kept winning. He hadn't expected it, really. Skating wasn't a competition to Victor Nikiforov. It was breathing, a steady heartbeat in his chest and air in his lungs. He needed it, it was that simple. It was just a happy coincidence that others thought that they needed it too. He could remember when they began to cheer for him before he'd even started skating. The way it had sent a surprised flush into his face and then made him smile in delight. They wanted to see him, they wanted to hear the story he had to tell. That was miraculous to him.

  
But this particular story was one that he never told and it was not about skating or cheering crowds.

  
It was about walking home in the early snowfall, his skates hanging loose in his grip and a faint smile lingering on his lips. It'd been a great practice. The new musical piece was beautiful and it reminded him of his favorite winters in Russia. He couldn't wait to show everyone his love for it in performance. _Maybe if I win again_ , he thought deviously, _I'll convince Mom to finally buy me a puppy_. Grinning at the idea, he tipped his head back to let snowflakes play on his face. The sky overhead was the ashy silver of his hair and he closed his eyes briefly to bask in it. Remembering the band around his wrist, he gathered up his hair and tied it into a high ponytail. That was his favorite way to wear it, besides maybe in a bun. The wind tugged at it as he walked, whipping it into silver tinsel. Blowing a strand from his mouth, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his red-and-white coat and continued on down the sidewalk.

  
He was fairly close to home when someone called out behind him. "Hey! Nikiforov!"

  
Blinking, Victor paused and glanced over his shoulder. A boy, maybe a year older, was behind him, hands in the pockets of a black coat. His spiky hair matched the color near-perfectly. A sharp grin tilted his lips in a way that wasn't exactly friendly. "Aren't you that skater I saw in the last show or something?"

  
It wasn't really called a "show," but Victor wasn't going to correct a common mistake. He might not have watched much skating. "Yeah," he answered with a smile. "Who're you?"

  
"Kaz," the boy replied, his voice like the sound of aluminum foil tearing. He stopped a foot away and raked a dark gaze over the skater. An irritated huff left him in a pale cloud. "Wanna explain why I turn on my TV and see faggots like you on it?"

  
Victor's world froze. He had never been made fun of before. Not like this. The insult was like a blade in his chest. "I... What?"

  
"I said," Kaz repeated slowly, "why do I have to see faggots like you around here?"

  
The name sparked a thing deep inside of Victor. It was something he didn't know he could feel, it was words bubbling up in his lungs, hurtful words. They spelled themselves out in his fisted hands and in the tears stinging the backs of his eyes. But Victor didn't like hurting people. "I'm not talking to you," he announced and turned firmly away.

  
"Aw, c'mon," Kaz whined, trailing after him. His voice rang out, raven's caws grating on nerves. "It's just a question, isn't it? What, can't handle a little confrontation, is that it? Can't handle it when someone isn't throwing themselves at you?"

  
Victor gazed straight ahead as he walked. Maybe if he didn't look back, it would be like Kaz wasn't there. The words wouldn't be hanging like knives in the wintry air and the tears wouldn't be threatening to stream down his face.

  
"I get it. You're a big-shot on the ice, but out here, you're just a disgusting coward." Kaz barked a laugh, making Victor flinch. Luckily, it seemed to have gone by unnoticed. "Should've known. It's a disappointment really; though I'd have more fun with you."

  
Still, Victor refused to acknowledge him. There was a hint of truth in what Kaz was saying, after all. Victor was too cowardly to face confrontation and that would always be his weakness.

  
He didn't speak another word on the way home, not even when the insults piled on his shoulders and weighed him down.

  
He told himself that the next day would be better.

-x-x-x-

The next day was not better.

  
Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

  
Kaz followed him home every day. Never too close, but trailing a few feet behind. He liked to wait for Victor on the sidewalk after practice, a sadistic smirk on his face and that gleam in his black eyes. The dark intent in them always had Victor trudging along the sidewalk with a pit of dread in his stomach. It might've been bearable. Victor might've waited until he was brave enough to turn around one day and give this asshole a piece of his mind. But then Kaz started bringing his friend, some blonde named Peter.

  
Now Victor had two people making his life hell. He never thought he'd start to dread practice. But, as he walked home with nose buried in a scarf and harsh voices in the air, he admitted that he hated this.

  
"Aw, look at how cute the little fairy looks today," Peter crowed, boots harsh on the pavement as he strode alongside Kaz. Victor could practically hear the sick grin.

"Only fairies got hair like that, you know, Kaz."

  
"You wanna finally stop and talk to us, Nikiforov?" Kaz asked eagerly.

  
"Don't worry, we don't bite!"

  
"Where are your wings, little fairy?"

  
"Hey, faggot, we're talking to you!"

  
Victor's grip tightened around his skates. A familiar burning began in his eyes and he gritted his teeth to force it back. There were many things he was willing to do to make this torture stop. But one thing he would not do was let these monsters see him cry. He sniffed a little, lifting a gloved hand to rub at his nose and then catch a stray tear. Dammit, he _hated_ it. He hadn't even given them reason to think he was actually gay, for Christ's sake! He'd never had a crush, let alone a boyfriend. They were just awful people, looking for an excuse to make someone feel like dirt. Well, it was working.

  
_You're almost home_ , he told himself, taking a steeling breath. He reached back to push the sweep of his high ponytail off his shoulder, letting the long strands play in the wind behind him. He never wore a hat over it. No matter what they said, they would never make him feel ashamed.

  
"I think poor Nikiforov's still ignoring us," Peter whined, voice high above the cold wind.

  
"Maybe we better let him know we're still here," Kaz suggested darkly.

  
Victor didn't have time to process what that meant.

  
Suddenly, hands planted across his back and _shoved_. Shock radiated up his body and his eyes widened. They had never dared to touch him before. He stumbled forward, nimble enough to not faceplant onto the sidewalk. But his knees did collide with the pavement, then his hands, and he gasped at the sting of pain. His skates clattered onto the ground next to him. Breathing heavily, he spit a strand of hair from his mouth and struggled to collect his thoughts. He could see their boots in his peripheral vision, frighteningly close, caging him in. They weren't going to let him go so easily today.

  
"What's the matter?" Kaz asked from above, leering down at him.

  
Peter's feet shifted on Victor's right. "Can't fly without your skates, fairy?" Then a boot left the ground and kicked his skates away, sending them skittering down the pavement.

  
"Hey!" Victor reached out for them, but they were too far away and he wasn't fast enough to catch them. He hadn't wanted them to make him voice his weakness. But right now, all his mind could think was that his world was lying, abused on the sidewalk and gathering snow.

  
Kaz knelt down next to him, giving Victor a glimpse of a jagged grin. "Hey, look," he taunted. "We finally got a word out of him, Peter."

  
"Hear that?" Peter sneered. "We're making progress now." He prodded once at Victor's side with his toe. Jerking away, Victor sucked in a breath.

  
"Don't be scared, Victor," Kaz told him. "We just wanna help you, after all. If you listened, you'd know that. Right, Peter?"

  
Peter snickered, smothering it with a hand. "That's right."

  
"See? We're big fans, actually. We don't want anything to stop you. And right now, we think there might be one tiny thing holding you back."

  
There was a note in his voice that Victor recognized at once. It told him that a line was about to be crossed. A flicker of light on metal brought his gaze up. Next to him, with a wide smile twisting his lips, Kaz was twirling a pair of scissors in his fingers. The realization came first. Then a bolt of panic so hard, it left him gasping for breath. Victor moved at once, pushed hard off of the ground and made to bolt. He was faster than them, he knew it, they wouldn't catch him—

  
A hand wound itself into his hair and yanked back.

  
Pain like fire lanced along Victor's scalp and he cried out before he could stop himself. His head was hauled backward, still half-fallen on his knees. Fresh tears flooded his eyes. As the two of them laughed at his misery, he reached back to wrap his hands around the base of his ponytail. He needed to alleviate some of this pain. "St—stop!" he stammered, desperate to pull away. But any movement doubled the flames racing along his nerves thanks to Peter's viselike grip on his hair. He heard the shift of metal blades and terror made his stomach lurch.

  
"C'mon, pretty boy," Peter hissed into his ear. "It's only gonna take a second."

  
"Don't!" Victor begged, but then he heard a swift shifting noise, like blades whipping through water. With it came a sharp jerk against his head, followed by an unfamiliar and terrifying loss of weight. They had released his hair with satisfied laughter, but still he knelt there. He lowered his head, fixing his gaze on the pavement before him. It was blurry with miraculously unshed tears. But at the edges, he could make out something curling there, a swirl of ashen ribbon. His heart twisted.

  
Once they'd had their fill of laughter, they were gone. They sauntered down the walk like they owned the world, knowing that they had been the ones to do this to Victor Nikiforov. And they were proud of it.

  
Finally, surrounded by gently falling snow, Victor reached back a trembling hand. His fingertips met jagged, ugly hunks of silver. His hair had been torn from its band and hung in choppy strands around his eyes. He could feel that it was shorter at the back and now just brushed his cheeks at the front. It felt like it'd been butchered with shears. He choked back a sob, reaching out. Pathetic, he gathered the fallen, snow-dusted hair in his arms and ran it between his fingers. What had they done to him? What had they done to him?

  
_Never again_ , he vowed, as tears melted hot tracks down his face. _No one will ever see me cry ever again. No one will ever see me fall apart_.  
  
He picked himself up, retrieved his skates, and walked home with head held high.

  
He never looked back. Not even when he finally started to cry.

-x-x-x-

Victor jerked awake with a gasp, blue eyes wide in the darkened hotel room. _Where am I_? he thought in a panic, pushing himself half-up onto an elbow. The sheets slipped down his chest and they were pale blue with a navy blanket thrown atop them; not the white color he'd grown used to. Gaze flicking around the room, his surroundings gradually fell into place. The hotel. The competition. That's right. He was staying here in Russia to see Yurio. A relieved exhale broke free from his chest. It had been a while since he'd had that nightmare, since that memory had reared its head. Absent, he smoothed his bangs off his face, fingers lingering over the short strands.

  
A muffled hum next to him brought his attention back to where he was. Yuuri mumbled a drunken "Victor?" in his sleep, rolling over in bed. His arm fell across Victor's waist and he nuzzled into the warmth of his chest.

  
As usual, Victor melted. He ran his fingers through the tousled mess of Yuuri's hair, then down his cheek. "Yes, _lyubov moya_?"

  
"Mm...wha's wrong?" Yuuri asked through a fog of sleep. He rubbed at his eyes, then leaned into Victor's hand now smoothing over the back of his head.

  
"Nothing," Victor lied gently.

  
"...you sure?"

  
"Yes, I'm sure." Smiling, Victor bent his head to press his lips to Yuuri's hair. "Go back to sleep, Yuuri," he murmured, closing his eyes. "I'm right here."

  
Contented, Yuuri threw a leg around Victor's, finding a comfortable position, and settled back into dreams. Victor watched the way his lashes twitched and sighed dreamily. God, did he have it bad for his _solnyshko_. Laying back on the mattress again, he cuddled close to Yuuri and rested his chin atop Yuuri's head on the pillow. It only took another moment of listening to him breathe, safe in Victor's arms, for the bad dreams to be chased away.


End file.
